


Gotta Get a Letter to You

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Series: Nikhael Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Almost Kiss, M/M, Nikhael Trevelyan (OC), Ser Simon (OC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: For a prompt on tumblr: "You confessed your feelings and we’re about to kiss but we get interrupted."Ser Simon comes to find Nikhael when he's tending to the Circle's messenger birds.





	Gotta Get a Letter to You

The first rays of morning light cut long shadows around Nikhael when he steps through the doorway out onto the platform that makes up the outdoor portion of the Circle’s rookery. It’s taken time, but he’s learned not to startle when the birds caw and stretch and flap their wings, welcoming the warm breeze that moves through his still-damp curls as he goes from perch to perch, greeting the messenger birds.

They all have names, or at least they do to him. Beaky and Greyfeather are huddled together on one of the open-front birdhouses, Greyfeather’s head resting on Beaky’s back. They’re right where he left them the night before, so he just refills their seeds and moves on, no need to rummage underneath them to look for scrolls on their delicate legs.

Screech lives up to her name, shouting the entire time he unties the scroll that she obediently offers him. He’d been frightened of her at first, but learned quick enough that she was all talk and no real bite. He scratches at the soft feathers on her neck before continuing his rounds.

The door behind him squeaks open and Nikhael pauses in his inspection and feeding, his hand still stuffed into the bag of seeds. He expects to see Enchanter Grena, or perhaps his aunt come to look for him for breakfast, but instead turns to see Ser Simon in the doorway. He’s dressed in his robes, the soft fabric a contrast to the armor that Nikhael is used to; his shoulders are still broad, however, and his waist seems even more narrow with the simple sash tied around it. 

“G- Good morning, Ser Simon,” Nikhael manages, nodding a little bow in his direction. His gaze flicks down, up, down and up again as he’s unsure how long he’s been looking and doesn’t want to seem to stare. “You look well,” he offers, only barely brushing the truth of his opinion, that Ser Simon looks very handsome indeed, freshly shaved and smiling softly back at Nikhael as if he’s genuinely glad to see him.

“Good morning, Trevelyan.” He steps out onto the landing and closes the door behind him, pausing to look around at the perches and birdhouses that cover the space like an artificial forest. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Nikhael replies as quickly as he can, not wanting Ser Simon to think he needs to leave. Seeds clatter to the stone floor around his feet when he pulls his hand out of the bag and a couple of the more enterprising birds hop down to help him with the clean-up. “I like to get here early so that anyone with messages can read them over breakfast. I haven’t seen anything for you yet, though,” he adds, hoping to cover his embarrassment over the mishap with the birdseed.

Ser Simon shakes his head a little, looking down into where Beaky and Greyfeather have stirred at the sound of food. “No, I wouldn’t think so. It’s my turn to send something to them, my Da and brother back in Starkhaven. They run a shop there, but when I took my vows there was no need for Templars at that Circle, so I came here to Ostwick instead.”

“Lucky for us.” The words are out before Nikhael can consider how they sound, and when he looks over at Ser Simon, he sees him staring back with a startled expression, brows raised and his mouth slightly open. His heart pushes up into his throat so that he can barely swallow around it, and he turns away again, filling more of the troughs with seed for the birds.

Ser Simon clears his throat and takes another couple steps towards him. “I’m glad you think so, Trevelyan.” There is the soft sound of paper being pulled from a pocket, and Nikhael is torn between hoping that Ser Simon knows how to handle the birds, and desperately wishing that he doesn’t so that he has the opportunity to help him. “You know, I’ve always thought it a little unfair that the Templars can read any letter that comes for you all, but you can’t do the same for us.”

_You’re not the only one,_ Nikhael thinks to himself. It’s one of the things his Aunt Tori has brought up time and time again, the way that their privacy can be invaded with no notice. Mages receive letters with wax seals broken, or have to watch in indignant silence as their correspondence is read by a guard before they are allowed to send it. It has yet to happen to Nikhael himself, no doubt a grace allowed thanks to his noble background and his aunt’s authority, but he’s both seen and heard it happen to others, and while he sometimes struggles to feel the same anger that Aunt Tori does when it comes to their treatment, on this point he understands her frustration.

“I realize it doesn’t solve anything, but I thought… well, I thought maybe you could read my letter before I send it.”

Templar is the largest of their birds, an old and cranky sort that doesn’t take kindly to the way Nikhael’s fingers stop combing through his feathers at Ser Simon’s words. The bird nibbles at him, trying to get his attention as Nikhael lifts his head and turns back to see Ser Simon holding the parchment out towards him, his brow furrowed and a shadow of fear in his bright eyes.

Nikhael glances down at the letter and shakes his head, giving Ser Simon a tight smile. “That’s kind of you, but not necessary.”

“I’d like you to read the letter.” Ser Simon takes another step towards him, gesturing with the parchment. “Please.”

It’s a strange request, and Nikhael moves from surprise to suspicion and no small measure of curiosity as he plucks the letter from Ser Simon’s outstretched hand. He glances from the paper to Ser Simon as he unfolds it. Ser Simon settles his weight, and Nikhael does his best to school his expression as he starts to read. He feels keenly observed, and it amplifies his embarrassment at how excited he is to get such a glimpse into the other man’s life.

_Dear Da,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back to you; there’s been a lot to do lately, and I’ve had a lot on my mind._

_I’ve met a man, and I want to tell you about him, even though I’m not sure how he feels about me. He’s a gentle soul, quiet and studious, but always quick to smile when he passes by in the halls. He seems a good person; I see him sometimes helping the younger apprentices or the older Enchanters, holding doors and carrying books. He has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, the deepest sort of blue, and when he looks at me sometimes I forget I’m supposed to be wary of him. I want to tell him that I like his smile, that I think he looks best when he ties his hair at the base of his neck, that I’d very much like to spend more time with him. Being around him makes me regret that things are the way they are, that he’s a mage and I’m a Templar and that makes it all impossible, but still I want to know more about him. I want to hear his thoughts, his dreams, and see if I can make him laugh that sweet giggle that he has. I want to know if his skin is as soft as it looks, if he would let me hold his hand, perhaps even risk a kiss. I almost did once in the library, and to this day I think back on it and curse my own foolishness that I did not take that chance._

Nikhael’s world slows and shrinks around him as he reads, the air he breathes turning hot and dry until it sticks in his throat, leaving him swallowing uselessly around his tongue. His face is burning all the way up to his ears and into his hair, and the parchment trembles in his hand. Ser Simon is not the only one to recall that day in the library, though Nikhael curses his foolishness in falling off the shelf more than he does his reaction to what came after. For him it seemed obvious that he’d embarrassed Ser Simon with his clumsiness, but now he sees that wasn’t the case at all.

It takes an age for him to tear his eyes from the paper, and when he does he finds Ser Simon standing impossibly close, studying Nikhael with his gaze. One warm hand wraps around Nikhael’s wrist, lowering his hand along with the letter, and he offers no resistance when he’s pulled closer. He wants this, and he tries to make that clear in his smile and his eyes, as he’s not sure he can will his mouth to form the words he seeks.

Ser Simon reaches up and brushes Nikhael’s curls back from his cheek, and he leans into the touch, eyelids heavy and fluttering as he fights to keep from closing his eyes entirely. He wants to look, to see it when Ser Simon closes the distance between them. His hand settles along the side of Nikhael’s neck and his jaw as they lean towards each other.

“Nikh,” Ser Simon whispers, tongue peeking out to lick at his lower lip, and Nikhael’s heart swells and stutters at the sound of his name on those lips, at the way he breathes out that softer, shortened syllable, close and warm so that Nikhael can feel it on his skin.

There is a raucous cawing and flailing of wings as a bird seems to tumble from the sky and crash into Nikhael’s shoulder. Ser Simon’s hand tightens around his wrist as he stumbles back out of the way, the bird dropping to the ground between them before righting itself. Scratcher is enormous and ancient, no longer used to send messages but allowed to stay with the other birds to live out the end of his days. He hops once, twice after twisting to his feet, crowing up at the two of them as if they were the ones at fault for standing where he’d wanted to land.

It’s enough to end the moment, however. Ser Simon lets go of his wrist, taking a step away when Nikhael reaches for him. He looks across at Nikhael and shakes his head, brow furrowed with regret as he moves back again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he mumbles as he turns to go, holding a hand out as if he is afraid that Nikhael will follow. “This was a bad idea.”

Nikhael wants to go after him, but finds himself unable to make his legs move as he watches Ser Simon retreat. To go from weightless light to such heavy gloom so quickly seems to weld him to the spot, and he can only frown and stand there, numb and scattered, still trembling with unspent energy.

The door closes and he’s alone with the birds again. Scratcher flutters up to a perch and Nikhael scolds himself for glaring at the bird and cursing it. This is not the bird’s fault, and a part of him cannot help but be relieved. He is sure that Ser Simon’s kiss would be sweet, his lips soft and his touch gentle, and all of it would be like something from one of the tales he sometimes sees the apprentices reading, but none of that would stop Ser Simon from being a Templar, any more than it can stop him from being a mage. It could have been a kiss, but nothing more, and perhaps that is just as well. At least, this is what he tells himself to staunch the disappointment as he carefully folds the letter and slips it into his pocket for safekeeping, certain that Ser Simon’s father was not the intended recipient after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and you can find more content here on AO3 and also [here on my tumblr!](http://gremlinquisitor.tumblr.com)


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